


9th Favorite Shirt

by mariadperiad20



Series: Foray into B99 [23]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: M/M, Whump, Worried Jake, kevin "i have been injured" cozner, worried Holt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:40:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariadperiad20/pseuds/mariadperiad20
Summary: “How much longer do we have to stand here?” Jake whined, shifting his weight as Kevin cast him a glance.“Until your ‘perpetrator’ arrives.” He replied coolly, not missing a beat.Jake mumbled a complaint, still slouched against the wall behind him. Despite his cavalier attitude, his gaze flickered at the faces of the passerby, carefully keeping his posture slack to conceal his tension.Request fic!
Relationships: Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt
Series: Foray into B99 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1320137
Comments: 24
Kudos: 363





	9th Favorite Shirt

Jake was bored.

Kevin stood stoically to his side, posture impeccable.

“How much longer do we have to stand here?” Jake whined, shifting his weight as Kevin cast him a glance.

“Until your ‘perpetrator’ arrives.” He replied coolly, not missing a beat.

Jake mumbled a complaint, still slouched against the wall behind him. Despite his cavalier attitude, his gaze flickered at the faces of the passerby, carefully keeping his posture slack to conceal his tension.

Kevin, meanwhile, kept his eyes focused on the newspaper in front of him, pretending to read it. He had begrudgingly agreed to come to this operation, mainly since the items being recovered were extremely valuable - one of the oldest copies of Canterbury Tales, Kevin could hardly believe he’d be able to see one up close - and the proprietor had demanded someone ‘good at book handling’ accompany Jake in his arrest.

Normally, of course, Kevin would have bristled at such a condescending implication of his academia work, but the allure of getting to actually _see_ one of these up close was enough for Kevin to disregard his pride.

Jake hadn’t seemed too bothered by the insult, just shrugging and saying that it was probably for the best, if only so that he would be the one to get in trouble if the book got damaged. Still, Kevin had the feeling that Jake was not entirely happy that he was on this case with him - for what, he wasn’t entirely sure.

Raymond, of course, was much more clear on why he didn’t want Kevin to accompany Jake. In a rare display of emotionality, he had exclaimed, quite loudly, that the risk was too high, and that it was too dangerous. That Kevin could get hurt.

Of course, that had the potential to be true.

But that acknowledgement of risk wasn’t going to stop Kevin from doing it anyway.

Jake’s posture shifted slightly, so he was standing on both feet rather than lounging against the wall.

Kevin barely had the moment to react, before Jake was stepping forward.

“Sean Wilton? NYPD.”

A man - Kevin recognized him from the photo he had been instructed to look at - took off sprinting down the street, shoving people out of his way as he did.

In a heartbeat, Jake was off.

The pair sprinted down the street, and Kevin shoved aside his newspaper, following suit. It was quite improper of him to run around in such a manner, but Jake was the only cop working this case, and it would be unbecoming if he became injured on the job while Kevin dithered.

Kevin followed the pair around a corner, and slowed to a stop as he came across the pair, Jake pinning Mr. Wilton to the frankly filthy ground of the street, both breathing hard.

“Check the bag.” Jake said breathlessly, fumbling for his handcuffs, and Kevin obliged, picking up the fallen… what was this, a tote bag masquerading as a satchel? Ridiculous.

He opened it, checking inside. Sure enough, inside of it was a very fancy, very old book. Kevin recognized it instantly. Thankfully, Mr. Wilton had at least had the good sense to package the book in protective layering. Unofortunately, the man was completely incompetent, judging by the fact that he opted for cellophane above something actually useful, or even a poly plastic.

Thank heavens Kevin was the only one to see such a mistreatment of a book so precious - he was sure that most of his coworkers would faint on the spot.

As Jake hauled Mr. Wilton to his feet, hands now handcuffed behind his back, Kevin closed the bag again, giving a quick nod, assenting that the item was in fact the one missing. He paused, however, when he saw something… odd. He hesitatingly shifted the book, in order to see what was next to it, before abruptly withdrawing his hand, snapping the bag shut immediately. Despite his practiced features, he was unable to hide the slight noise of revulsion from escaping his mouth.

“Kevin? What’s wrong?” Jake asked, gaze immediately switching to focus on him.

“There appears to be a… dismembered hand inside the bag, alongside the missing book.”

“A what?” Jake asked, eyebrows rising. “That might be like… a prop or something?”

Mr. Wilton remained silent.

Kevin frowned. “Possibly,” He said, unconvinced. It had felt a bit too… realistic for him to really believe it was a plastic or model version.

He had only come here to verify a book.

Kevin decided he was going to thoroughly reconsider Raymond’s advice on police work from then on, if it turned out to be as real as he thought it was.

“Let me check.” Jake said, “If it is, then we need to call backup asap.”

Kevin steeled his nerves, reopening the bag so that Jake could look into it.

Jake made a noise in the back of his throat.

“Yep, that’s a hand all right.” He said tightly, sounding both intrigued and revolted.

At that precise moment, Wilton reacted.

He brought back one of his legs to kick Jake in the knee, hard. It gave out, and Jake stumbled, regaining quickly, but enough time for Wilton to grab the gun out of his holster, twisting his arms around his side to point it straight at the detective.

Jake froze, expression morphing into one of detached, neutral concern, voice going careful.

“Hey, man, put the gun down.” He said, but Wilton moved away from him, towards Kevin. Kevin, noting this shift, edged forward, placing himself slightly in front of Wilton’s line of fire, but hopefully close enough that he could remove the weapon. He did, after all, have a large, hideous bag full of book and hand, _in_ hand, after all.

Oh, that would be a delightful pun to tell Raymond later.

“I didn’t do anything!” Wilton said, voice edged. “I’m innocent!”

“Okay, Sean. Look, we can work this out, alright? No need for anyone to get-”

Jake’s mouth had kept moving, but Kevin could no longer hear the words over the gunshot.

He could surmise, more or less, the intention behind Jake’s words, however.

He could not surmise, however, why he was suddenly no longer holding the bag, and had instead dropped it to the ground. Also, he was now on the ground as well - how distasteful. 

Or why his sternum was now being pressed down onto by a pair of hands - hands he belatedly realized were his own.

Wilton took off running, and Kevin watched blearily as Jake shifted for a moment, before dropping down to kneel beside Kevin.

“Shit.” Jake cursed, one hand reaching up to radio for backup.

“Shit indeed.” Kevin said tightly, watching with a grimace as red blood dripped over his hands. It was for the best, he supposed, that tomorrow was laundry day - this was only his 9th favorite shirt, after all.

Jake pulled off his hoodie, balling it up. Kevin obligingly removed his hands, and Jake pressed it down over the source of the bleeding.

His hands were shaking.

Kevin pressed the jacket down with his own, looking up to Jake’s face to instruct him to let go, if he wasn’t going to apply more pressure. He stopped, however, when he saw how pale Jake’s face seemed to be, and how his eyes were fixed on the gunshot wound.

“That worried about how my husband will react?” Kevin asked, feigning lightness.

Jake did not laugh.

Instead, his eyes cast upwards, expression looking hopeless.

Kevin restrained the urge to sigh at the behavior, instead stating, “This is non-lethal, you know. You really should try to catch Mr. Wilton, as he did have a hand in his bag.”

Jake shook his head, hard, pressing down a bit more firmly onto Kevin’s torso.

“No, it’s fine. We’ll find him again. Besides, you’re more important.”

“I’m not sure that the NYPD would-”

“What the fuck, Kevin?” Jake asked suddenly, sharply. His hands were still shaking, but their pressure was thankfully now firm on Kevin’s torso. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking? I’m a _cop_ , you shouldn’t have done that.”

“And simply let him kill you?” Kevin asked, raising an eyebrow. He bit back the highly improper groan of pain that attempted to become known as time went on, and his adrenaline began to fade in order to allow more and more pain to radiate through his body.

“Yes!” Jake replied, before his expression changed, turning into a closed off, if not frustrated, look. “It’s a risk I signed up to take.”

“Well, I hardly think that’s fair.” Kevin said, unable to hide the grimace on his face, “Especially considering I’d have to be the one to console Raymond should you die.”

Jake chuckled awkwardly. “I doubt it. I’m sure he’d be too busy consoling Charles.”

Kevin shrugged, and he felt his grip slacken on his injury. Try as he might, he didn’t seem able to regain the same level of pressure he had been placing on it before.

“Jacob, my hands are no longer effective at stopping blood loss.” Kevin said, pulling them away. He caught the flash of a frown that crossed Jake’s face before he was able to conceal it, although Jake’s pressure obligingly increased.

Jake grimaced as one of his hands slipped on the now-slick, bloody shirt, Kevin unable to fully restrain the grunt of pain that escaped him from the action.

“Sorry, sorry.” Jake said, “Shit. I should’ve- I’m sorry. I should’ve known what he was going to do, I shouldn’t have let you get hurt.”

“You didn’t _let_ me do anything.” Kevin frowned, “I am responsible for my own actions.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean, you should’ve gotten out of his wa, or _something_.”

“I went in his way on purpose, actually.” Kevin corrected, pretending he didn’t notice how his voice seemed to be slurring slightly. “So… his fault for shooting, right?”

“Kevin, why the- why would you do that?” Jake’s voice sounded almost desperate, and Kevin felt a twist of… something… at his heart at the implication of the words.

“Because you matter to Raymond.” Kevin replied finally, head now fully resting against the dingy wall of the alley. “And to me.” He admitted after a moment.

For some reason, he felt like he didn’t normally say that sort of thing, but the entire experience was making him a bit off.

Still, judging by the way Jake blinked at him, dumbfounded, and - Kevin couldn’t tell if it was real or just part of some sort of hallucination - seemed to have difficulty speaking, Kevin decided that it must have been something different from usual, for them.

“Oh.” Was all Jake said, finally.

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t drop a 3rd edition copy of Canterbury Tales for just anyone, you know.”

Jake laughed again, oddly breathless and a bit crackled with emotion.

“Fuck, Kevin, you’re…”

Whatever he was going to say next was interrupted by the wail of sirens. An ambulance pulled up, as did a police car sporting a recognizable figure.

Kevin felt relieved at the sight of his husband.

Which quickly morphed into concern as he took in the clear tension scrawled across Raymond’s figure, and how heavy his footsteps fell upon the ground.

Surely enough, the moment he reached the pair he dropped down to a squat, casting aside Jake’s hands to apply pressure himself.

Kevin groaned slightly at the harshness of the action, even as he fully appreciated it - Jake was too nervous, he was going too light before.

“Captain Raymond Holt.” Kevin said, “It is a pleasure to see you.”

Raymond didn’t reply to his banter, expression stormy. He kept his gaze firmly rooted on the task at hand, methodical in every sense.

Paramedics arrived, and Holt hesitated for half a moment, expression switching to one of open concern before he schooled it back into neutral, allowing the medics to take over from him.

Still, he hovered in extremely close proximity to Kevin, unable or unwilling to leave his vicinity.

“Raymond, are you quite alright?”

“Professor Kevin Cozner, PhD, given our current situation I should be asking you the question.” Raymond replied finally, voice softened, and Kevin allowed a slight smile onto his face - accepting an apology without it having to be asked.

“I am adequate, Raymond.”

“It is quite fortunate tomorrow is laundry day.” Holt said, as the paramedics cut off Kevin’s shirt. “That is your ninth favorite, if I recall correctly?”

“Yes, it is.” Kevin replied, before glancing over at Jake, who was still staring at him. “Jacob? Is something the matter?”

“Hm?” Jake blinked, “Oh, heh, no, no, it’s just…” He raised his hands to gesticulate towards Kevin, clearly forcing his eyes wide, “I didn’t know you were so ripped, Kev! What is that, a six-pack?”

“Peralta!” Holt barked, and Jake practically jumped out of his skin. “Refrain from admiring my husband. He should not have been injured.”

“Yes, Captain.” He asked meekly. Kevin felt a twist of pity at how guilty Jake looked at the moment - far too pale and his fingers tapping, borderline manically, on his badge, seemingly oblivious to the splotches of blood - Kevin’s blood - that he was spreading onto it.

“Raymond, Detective Peralta performed his duties properly. I interfered and the injury sustained was of my own volition.”

Raymond turned slightly, giving Kevin a look - it would pass as angry, if it hadn’t been so concerned - and asked, “What were you thinking, Kevin?”

“He was going to kill Jacob.” Kevin said, raising an eyebrow.

Raymond seemed to flounder for a moment, unsure as to whether to double down on his anger at Jacob, or switch to his frustration with Kevin, or, potentially, both.

In the end, it seemed, he opted for neither, choosing to postpone his feelings entirely on the matter.

“Well, in that case, you are both incompetent.” He finally said, although his tone lacked any real bite to it.

“Gee, thanks, dad.” Jake muttered.

Raymond held up a hand. “Allow me to correct myself. Jacob, you are incompetent. My husband is merely stubborn.” His eyes were soft as he looked at Kevin.

Jake grinned, “Gross, you guys are so in love.” Then he made a face, pointing to the bag from where it lay on the ground.

“Captain, by the way, Wilton’s also maybe a murderer. Who dismembers people and puts body parts in bags.” Jake said.

“He what?”

“And," Kevin added tersely, "He packaged a 3rd edition Canterbury Tales for protection from said hand in cellophane.”

“He _what?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Total Request:_ just saw your fic on Kevin and Jake, and it was amazing! 😭 Thank you for writing more fics on Kevin! I hope it's not too much trouble, but could I request a bit of Kevin!Whump where somehow he gets hurt protecting Jake, and since he's isn't really lucid after getting hurt, he inadvedently admits that he's grown fond of Jake and he was willing to protect him? Holt being worried about his husband would be a definite bonus too if it's alright! Thank you for all your amazing work! 💛
> 
> thank you for your request! :D  
> also y'all i am so blown away by how many of you requested fics! 25+ requests over the course of like a week - just... wow! super flattered <3
> 
> also it's weird to write whump about anyone other than jake in this series, lol - i'm really used to beating up everyone's fave daddy issues disaster boi. this was a nice change in pace :)


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